Everyone laughed, but Annie continued, 'she makes me right mad at times. It's always the same. "Annie, have you been thieving?" she says, after she's checked the linens. If something goes missing, it's always me. What does she think I'm going to do with a fine lace napkin, wipe my bum with it?'

'Don't forget the stillroom perfumes,' Tompkins interrupted. 'Molly, me love, if you smell of lavender water, you'll be dead before the day is out a smelling good, mind you.' As the banter and the laughter continued, Molly grew more at ease.

That night she slept in the room at the top of the house. It was not so different from her room at the Charter House, and she fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke the next morning, she rose on one elbow and looked around her. The early sunlight made patterns on the wooden floor, and on top of the washstand a small china mug was filled with spring flowers. It was an attractive room, and with a little imagination she could make it her own. She listened to the silent house, and painfully she thought of Will, the two of them in her own bedroom, whispering before the rest of the household erupted with the day's activity.

She got out of bed and looked through the window. Crocuses burst through the ground, another reminder of home. Once again Molly longed for her mother and for Will, and she hungered to be outside.

She washed her face and hands in the blue and white china basin, smoothed her hair and glanced in the mirror. Her hazel eyes stared back at her. Molly had never liked the colour; she wished they were blue.

She straightened the collar of her sprigged cotton dress. It was faded and a little too short, but it was her second-best dress, and until she could make another, it would have to do. She went down the back stairs and into the garden. It smelt of cut spring grass, reminding her of the garden at Warwick Castle.

A brick archway led to a pathway between two raised borders. She followed the path, picked a narcissus and held it to her nose. 'The Romans brought them here,' her mother had told her, 'nigh-on thirteen hundred years ago.'

Through two pillars she entered a large untended garden. Wild flowers grew in the long grasses, and amongst the trees, two pools glittered in the early morning light. In the smaller pool there was a statue. She recognized it as Pan. She sat down on a bench and leant forward. Pan's reflection moved across the water towards her. She was lost in thought when she heard footsteps. Thomas was at the entrance to the garden. He looked her way and for a long moment they didn't speak.

'May I join you, Miss Johnson? I am also an early riser.'

'I have to start work soon,' she said, finding her voice, 'but, yes, for a little while. I would like that.'

He sat on the bench beside her, and when he moved, his leg brushed against hers.

'Do you know about this flower?' he asked, looking at the wilting stem in her lap.

'I do. I am not well schooled, but my mother has a story for nearly every flower in England.'

'That means,' he said, 'you will be able to tell me a story every day of the year.' He looked at Molly intently and she felt her cheeks burn.

She struggled to remember the myth. 'This is a narcissus, and it's named for a character in Greek mythology. Surely you have heard the story?'

'I don't think so,' Thomas said. 'Go on.'

'Narcissus was a hunter. He had flowing golden hair and great beauty, but he had no heart. On seeing him the nymph Echo fell madly in love.' Molly paused, but Thomas nodded at her encouragingly. 'Narcissus spurned Echo, and the poor nymph wasted away and died. This angered the gods and they decided to punish Narcissus. One day when he was tired of hunting, he drank from a clear pool of water. On seeing the beautiful face shimmering in the water below, he immediately fell in love, little realizing the reflection was his own. Like Echo, he too faded away, echoing the manner of her death. Aphrodite took pity on him and made him into this golden flower.' As she looked up, their eyes met and he smiled, and though he would smile at her many times, this was the one she never forgot. 'My mother is very wise, Master Thomas. She may not have had a proper education, but she knows more about life than anyone I know.'

'Molly,' he said. Her name sounded so pretty on his lips. 'That is the most enchanting name. May I call you by your first name? Miss Johnson is too formal, now that I know that you love stories and flowers.'

'Indeed, sir, you may.'

'Do you like our house?' he asked, willing her reply to be positive.

'Master Thomas, I like it enough, but the house in the dip with the chickens outside reminds me of home. That one I like a lot.'

Sir William Keyt strode towards them. 'Thomas,' he thundered. 'What are you doing? Your mother has been waiting for you. Have you forgotten? And Miss Johnson, are you going to neglect your duties before they have begun? Do I have to send you back to your father today?'

'I am sorry, sir,' she said, humiliated. She was about to apologize again, when she realized the injustice of his anger. 'I came out to see your garden,' she started uncertainly. 'It was well before breakfast and the start of my duties.' She squared her hips and faced him. 'I did not ask to be in your employment, Sir William. My father forced me. Apparently an agreement was made. It was not my decision, and I will gladly go home.'

'If you feel that we have coerced you, far be it from me to stop you, but have a care, Miss Johnson: your father might not be so pleased.'

He turned on his heel.

'Forgive me,' Thomas said when his father had gone. 'It was my fault. I should have defended you but I didn't know what to say. My father always has that effect on me, but you stood up to him. You are quite extraordinary.'

As Molly headed back towards the house and the day's duties, she repeated Thomas's words like an incantation.

Thomas remained on the stone bench. He picked up the flower and turned it in his hand, remembering the heat from her body as her leg had moved against his own. 'Help me,' he sighed, but nothing could ease the confusion in his heart. He slipped the flower into the pocket of his coat. Who knew what course his life would take, but at that moment he was sure that Molly Johnson would play a part in it.

13.

The following morning Dorothy rose early, determined to find her brother. She went to his room but found no sign of him. She was about to leave when Ruth arrived, armed with brushes and the ash pail.

'Morning, miss, just come to do the grate.' She knelt down to clear the remains of the previous night's fire, and Dorothy changed her mind and sat in the armchair to wait for Thomas. For the first time she noticed that all of the relics of their childhood had disappeared a the drawings pinned to the wall, the maps showing their imaginary travels, even the colourful pictures done with Miss Byrne. At fifteen, her brother was nearly a man.

Beside her on the table lay several sheets of paper, the finished translations from the day before. Glancing through them, she noticed underneath a number of poems in varying stages of composition. She was about to put them down when one line caught her eye: 'Oh such beauty is held within thy face.'

She sucked in her breath, tears stinging her eyes, and pushed it hurriedly back into the pile. It had to be about Miss Johnson. She just knew it had been written for her.

Ruth rose and stretched her back. 'I've finished the hearth. If you're after Master Thomas, he's in the garden. He'll be looking for that new lady's maid, I'll warrant.'

'I did not ask for your opinion!' Dorothy got up and charged from the room.

In the rose garden Molly was picking flowers. As she straightened, wiping her face with her sleeve, she noticed Thomas watching her.

'How long have you been here?' she asked.

'Long enough,' he replied with a smile.

'These are for your mother,' she explained, hastily adding the stems to her basket.

He laughed, aware of her embarrassment. 'You are allowed to pick flowers. You'll not be punished. Mother thinks you are wonderful. In fact, it seems you have captivated the entire household.'

Neither noticed the face in the study window. On hearing their voices, Sir William had peered outside; seeing his son standing with Molly Johnson filled him with fear and helplessness. Though they stood feet apart, their looks and gestures revealed mutual attraction. Sir William slumped into the chair, and with his head cradled in his arms he wept.

Sometime later Dorothy heard shouting in the hall.

'I will not go! You can't make me!'

'You'll do as you are bloody well told! I won't have you moping around here any longer. It's time you went to school. You should have gone at thirteen like every normal boy. I said so to your mother at the time, but she wouldn't have it. Now, you are definitely going.'

'Perhaps you have your own motives for getting rid of me.'

'How dare you, Thomas! You have no respect, and no manners. Perhaps Eton can make something of you, for it seems you have learnt nothing here. You will leave on the tenth of the month, so you had better start packing!'

She heard the door slam and waited for her brother at the top of the stairs.

'He's sending me to Eton,' he said. 'I'll be a target for every bully in the school.'

'Why do you say that? Of course you won't be.'

'Look at me, Dotty. I hate shooting, I hate sport, and Father says I act like a girl.'

She put her arms around her precious brother. She remembered the entry in her father's diary and realized that this was no idle threat. 'It will be all right. He can't have meant it. If you don't want to go, he won't make you. Even Father can't be that vile.'

Thomas held her at arm's length and looked into her eyes. 'Believe me, Dorothy. If he thinks I'm a threat, he will send me away for ever.'

Dorothy didn't understand the implication of his words, but she knew that her father would be responsible for yet another loved one leaving her.

It was not long before the gossip had reached the servants' quarters.

'He's been sent away to school, poor boy.' Annie's face was long and disapproving.

'Perhaps it's better for him. Too many girls in the house,' Ruth said.

Molly folded the petticoats away in the cupboard for the third time. She rearranged the vests and the camisoles, the stockings and the bodices. Keeping busy was the only way to get through the morning.

As Thomas's departure drew near, Molly's anxiety increased. She had been hanging a dress in Lady Keyt's wardrobe when he walked through the bedroom door.

'I have come to say goodbye.'

'It's true, you are going, then?'

'Father's packed me off to school.' He picked up a hairbrush distractedly and put it down in the wrong place. He walked towards her, then turned back to the dressing table.

'Stand still, sir, or you'll wear out the carpet.'

He smiled. 'Molly Johnson, you are quite unique. I have never met anyone like you before.'

'You can't have met many people, then. I believe I'm quite ordinary.'

He laughed and took her hand. 'I'll write if you would like me to.'

She nodded, too flustered by his touch to tell him she couldn't read.

'Goodbye, Molly. I must go.'

'Goodbye, Master Thomas, and good luck.'

'Molly, may I kiss you?' She looked at him in assent, and he lowered his head to hers. It was a fleeting, feather-light kiss, but it bound her to him.

'This is a poem especially for you.' He tucked a folded piece of paper into her fingers and pressed them to his lips. No one had written her a poem before. No one had made her heart pound in her chest. When the time came for him to leave, it took all her will not to run down from her attic bedroom and throw her arms around him. Instead she watched helplessly as the footmen carried the trunks to the awaiting coach.

'Cheer up, Miss Dorothy,' Lorenzo said kindly. 'He'll be back before you know it.'

'He won't,' she wailed. 'I know he'll be gone for ever.'

When the family assembled for the last time, she ran to Thomas and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder.

'These are for you.' She pressed a small bunch of violets into his hand. 'I picked them this morning. They will remind you of home.'

He pulled his prayer book from his inside pocket, and placed the tiny flowers inside.

'I shall keep these for ever, Dotty. Not only will they remind me of home, but they will be a constant reminder of my little sister.'

'Don't be frightened,' she replied. 'I shall pray for you every single day.'

'Thank you. Please do keep me in your prayers, for you shall always be in mine.' He gently unhooked her hands. 'Mother,' he said. 'I shall miss you so much.'

'And you, my beloved son.'

'Goodbye, Lizzie, I shall think of you.' When Elizabeth lifted his hand and held it to her cheek, her eyes welled with tears. Thomas kissed her forehead. 'Write to me. Send me drawings of home.'

Their father stood apart from the family, his arms steady at his sides. 'Make good use of your time, Thomas.'

Thomas did not reply.

As the coach pulled away, he turned towards the house and waved, but this last gesture made Dorothy gasp with disappointment: it was directed to an attic window, far above her.

14.

For the next few weeks, Molly buried herself in her work. She soon settled and mastered her new duties. Here she mended silks and satins instead of cottons and coarse wool. The company of her boisterous family was exchanged for that of aristocrats, who viewed the world from a different perspective. Her mistress expected obedience, but she was also kind and generous.

'You're doing well, Molly. Your mending is faultless, your care of my wardrobe impeccable, and Miss Elizabeth has become attached to you. I'm sure you'll be with us for a long time.'

Molly felt proud. Life at Norton was getting better.

One morning, when Molly's work was all but done, Lady Keyt went to the wardrobe. She pushed aside the dresses to pull out a gown. 'This no longer fits me,' she said. 'Would you like to have it? It has a rip in the seam, but that should be easy enough to repair.'

Molly was lost for words.

'Don't you like it?'

'Thank you, my lady. I never expected I would own dress like this.' She held the mint-green silk in her arms, cradling it like a child. She touched the lace on the bodice, the delicate pin tucks on the sleeves, the silk sash. 'Thank you, my lady. It is the most beautiful gown in the world.'

Later, standing in front of the cracked mirror in the small bedroom at the top of the house, turning this way and that, her cheeks flushed, it was easy to dream. When she put on the dress, its bodice cut very low, it was easy to imagine hands caressing her body, and lips on her neck.